


They're Still Here

by orphan_account



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, FAHC, Mental Instability, comfortable like a bed of nails, gta v - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 13:38:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8626549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ryan's coming down from a recent panic.What happened? He doesn't know.At least his crew is there to help.





	

Ryan's eyes were shut tightly, hands in his grown out hair with fingers that clutched at his scalp tightly. If he clutched tightly enough perhaps his hands could work as a vice, squeezing the uncertainty out of his mind. Like a mad lemon. When life gives you mad lemons, make insanitade. 

Insanitade.   
Someone call Gatorade, there is money to be made off of this.

The mercenary's mouth twitched upwards as he chuckled, letting his mind drift into the furthest corners of comfort he had remaining. Everything in the center of his mind was cloudy. It was jumbled, mixed, confusing... 

What happened...?  
Even he wasn't entirely sure. 

Their heist had gone well. There were a few slip ups, as any of their capers had, but it was nothing that couldn't be handled with a combination of explosives and dumb luck.

***

Gavin had accidentally caught the bank teller's desk ablaze when his messing around with pouring gas in his boredom had backfired. And maybe Michael had a whoops moment when he yelled at Gavin for the small inferno and his finger slipped. He had pulled the trigger of his SMG to send five bullets into the chest, neck and head of a woman carrying a paper shopping bag. To which Michael paused, stared at her for a long moment and shrugged in response. 

 _  
"_ _That'll buff out. Little foundation, she'll be great."_

***

Ryan chuckled again, lifting his eyes and allowing them to adjust again to the fading light of the room he sat in. The familiar surroundings of his own space. Knives were displayed on the wall, his keepsakes. His favorites. The setting sun behind the Vinewood hills managing to throw several final beams of orange tinted light into his safe area. The light refracted off several of his displayed knives, bouncing softly to another part of the room. 

The man who sat on his bed, head in his hands slowly took away the clutching appendages. A shaky breath slipped from between his lips, bringing him to the realization that he still had some way to go before he could entirely calm down. The attempt to focus on the exact happenings of the last two hours had his head spinning, bringing his focus to a complete halt. To avoid another headache he had to slam on the breaks. 

Something else.  
He needed anything else to focus on.

Ryan took a long moment to lift himself from his bed, getting onto strong feet that had to make up for weak knees. He had to correct his steps several times to avoid tripping or stumbling over, if he fell back onto his bed it wouldn't be so bad. Unfortunately, the floor seemed like a much more likely option to hit with the way his body threatened to send him forward at a quick momentum. 

He made his way slowly to the window, careful of where his body tried to push him. Hands gripped the window sill, holding himself steady while his eyes took in the view from the penthouse window. The sky turned everything mixes of orange and purple. The color combination made him smile. Jeremy would like this, if he wasn't already watching from the living room. 

Ryan's breath stabilized as he thought of his crew, remembering when they ran from the bank that began to go up in smoke.

***

Thanks to Gavin's mistake. That mistake gave them just enough cover from a security guard that chased out Geoff and Jack with their dufflebags full of cash and papers, gun drawn. Bullets were fired at them. Geoff and Jack fired back, but the smoke that filled the main room, causing the people held hostage by Ryan's Carbine to scream even louder. People in a panic that they would burn alive in the financial hell. 

Geoff's yelling was clear as day, despite the coughing that began as the smoke spread, having made its way into people's lungs. 

_  
"Get out! Run! We got the fucking money, get them out!"_

  
Their leader demanded of them as he tore off the suit he wore to reveal the long sleeve shirt and sweatpants he had on underneath. The security guard that had fired at them bent over, coughing. The man unable to see with the smoke now in his eyes. There were more important things at hand, he had to get the people out. 

With the guard distracted with the safety of others, the crew tucked their guns into hiding or ditched the larger arms all together. Geoff pulled on fingerless gloves, anything to hide the amount of tattoos he had, a ball cap pulled over his hair to use the bill to shield his recognizable tired eyes from view. Jack opened his Hawaiian shirt to show a t-shirt underneath, tear away blue striped shorts for khaki colored cargo shorts instead. There was no quick way to hide his beard, he had to leave the fastest.

Hostages were pushed by Gavin and Ryan, Michael screamed at them to get them moving. They were a quick way out, blend in with the panicked crowd. Make their way to safety by use of the public they had just robbed. 

Smoke billowed across the ceilings, filling the main room of the bank until there was only a couple feet of safe air along the floor. The guard was too busy making sure the tellers that survived the robbery made it from behind the counters, rushed them towards the door as the rest of the Fake AH Crew changed from their traditional outfits. Michael's zippered bomber jacket was opened and dropped to reveal a powder blue t-shirt, a pastel pink beanie pulled over his hair, a pair of prescription-less glasses put over his contact covered eyes to throw off immediate suspicion.

Gavin tripped as he ran for the door, pulling off his jeans to reveal swim shorts. He hit the tile floor hard but scrambled up faster than any cat on recorded video. The more tan of the five grabbed the arm of a chair to not only pull himself up but to launch over, he caught his footing and ran again. His hands grabbed for his shirt, he hauled it open so fast several buttons broke. They fell to the floor and the garment left his body before he hit the front steps outside the bank. 

Why he decided his civilian cover was  _'man at the beach who forgot cash for the ice cream stand'_ no one really knew. Or could reason.   
Especially when the beach and pier were more than 30 miles away. 

***

Ryan grinned to himself, turning to look at his room again as his head began to clear. His knives, his tools of the trade, they liked the sun. They enjoyed where his room was, that they could see the sun set as well and partake of beams of light to warm their steel bodies. If only for an hour before the sun was gone entirely. The mercenary took a final glance out of the window, his hand patting the wood that framed the pane of glass then slowly made his way to the door of his room. 

He didn't know what he'd done that put him in his room, but the door wasn't locked from the outside so it couldn't have been so bad. There had been numerous times before where he'd lost his cool, lost track of the situation only to come to in his room. The door locked for the safety of those on the other side until he regained his wits. A small push of relieved air left Ryan's lungs, hitting the wooden door that he pushed open. 

Ryan's ears could pick up on the sounds of running water hitting the metal sink in the kitchen, the sounds of a game's theme playing from the living room. It seemed like a menu song so they were likely just getting started. Maybe he could join in, if they weren't too mad. There were a few... unhappy parties after they had gotten outside of the bank.

***

Ryan was the last inside the bank to ditch his usual attire. The mercenary unzipped his jacket and shed it into a backpack, he then pulled off a pair of baggy jeans for a more well fitting, darker pair underneath. The process wasn't smooth, but he had been in theater in his younger days. He knew how to get in and out of costumes quickly in order to seamlessly change for the next act. And this was Act two. 

The mask was dropped into his bag as well, face without paint underneath today so that he could blend best with the crowd. He felt oddly naked without it, but it was for the good of his  _'normal dad about to get his kids from middle school'_ disguise. As suggested by Jack. He ran for the door, fluffing his hair with one hand, while the other covered his mouth. 

The smoke stung his eyes, but he could handle it. It was only for a couple minutes as people dashed from the bank, running down the sidewalks to escape the building's multiple terrors. Ryan's lungs were grateful for the clear air outside, the man taking several deep breaths before a coughing fit took his air from him again. Several people came onto the scene some with a phone in their hands and 911 on the line already. Others who hadn't made the call were checking on people running out instead. One man stopped Ryan, making sure he was okay and suggested that he should sit down. To which Ryan shook his head. 

_  
"No, I... I've got to... Got to see my kids... They're waiting for me. I... I have to go get them."_

  
Play the parent in shock and people will feel for him. That was the plan and it worked.

The man let him go. He moved onto someone else while Ryan rushed down the street with the other running civilians. 

***

Ryan softly opened the door to his room, head peeking out into the hallway. No immediate crew members seen. He took two steps into the hall, raising a hand that absentmindedly wiped at his forehead. Fingers taken back were covered in flakes of red, some smeared areas of his palm had him releasing a huff out of irritation. He couldn't remember, but it wasn't the first time he'd come to his surroundings and noticed he'd repainted his own face. At this point he'd done his classic paint so many times that he could do it without really being conscious of it. It was complete muscle memory. It was home. 

That type of constriction on his face, the paint against the natural contortion of his skin during expression and talking was comforting. Just as much as any of his crew. 

The mercenary took his time to check the rooms first. He wasn't the only one who went into hiding in his room when things went bad.

Ryan made his way down the hall, starting at the back and making his way towards the rest of the penthouse. He could see several empty rooms before coming upon Geoff's two doors up from his own. The older man was in his chair, bent over a desk. Head in one hand, left gripping a pen while sat over papers and plans. No doubt he was trying to figure out what could make the next heist even better. One probably without the fire going up before they were ready. 

Or better timing to set the next on fire, considering how well their escape went because of the accident.

Ryan decided to leave Geoff alone to ponder whatever it was that Geoff thought about in his post-heist downtime. Instead, he walked to the living room, seeing Gavin and Michael on the couch, ready to start their game. Jack was by the fridge, facing the cabinets while he leaned against the counter. He was likely considering dinner, so there was no reason to bug him at the moment. He was one of the better cooks of them all, when he got in the zone for making everyone's dinner it was an ordeal. If Ryan tried to help he'd be roped into the whole process and that wasn't something he wanted at the moment. 

The whole penthouse smelled of smoke, their civilian outfits having grabbed enough of the smoke from the bank and had not let go of. It began to swim in the air, but it was nothing they couldn't handle. They'd had worse smells in there. The time Jeremy had made popcorn for movie night but was distracted by the other two lads who pulled him into a wrestling dog pile. The bag burnt entirely, the penthouse smelled of burnt popcorn for days. Now that was awful. 

Ryan could see Jeremy sat at the end of the kitchen island, chin resting on his hand, head turned so he could watch the sun set. Just as expected. 

No one paid Ryan much mind at first. So either he was still in trouble or they were giving him space to approach on his own. It was sweet of them to do what they could to help.

**_  
"What are you doing?!"_ **

  
Michael's voice was strong in his ears, reminding him of the two lads that had to have been in their game at this point. He walked over to the pair sat closely on the couch. Michael was slouched over, legs crossed on the cushions under himself, elbows on his knees, controller tightly held in his hands. Gavin was much more casual. He was sat into the back of the couch, legs open, feet on the floor, controller in his lap while he stared at the screen intently. He did have a goofy grin on his face while Michael seemed to be scowling heavily. 

  
"Hey."

  
Ryan tried to begin conversation, but after a moment he could see he was being ignored.

  
"I uhh... Look, I'm sorry for what happened, can we... forget about it? Maybe? If it's three-player, I could... join in?"

  
He offered his hand at the game.

_  
"You'd like that wouldn't you?"_

_"Micool, look at him. He's a bloody lunatic. Don't let him near us."_

_**"Ryan, fuck** _ **off!"**

  
Well. Rude.  
Sometimes, sure, but pulling that out of nowhere...

Ryan could see that he wasn't wanted there, stepping from the pair with a huff. Fine. He would talk to the others then if they were going to be brats. He could have just as much of a good time simply talking to Jeremy. Jack's hand was in a cabinet, hands finding a can of something to start the cooking idea process. If he could find a couple things that matched well it was no time before Jack had things going into the oven. 

The mercenary turned his back to the pair on the couch with a pout, feeling rather left out. Well, it gave him a chance to talk more to their newest crew member anyway.

***

Jeremy had been outside during the bank while it had caught fire. He had been scoping out the area. He had been the one to initially sneak into the bank and get to the vault level, the youngest of their crew had opened the large metal door, letting in Geoff and Jack to raid the kept money. He had instantly gotten out of view of the cameras, ditching his cowboy hat to reveal the dyed section of turquoise at the top of his head. Aviators were lost along the way, purple suit abandoned and orange shirt gone. All in exchange for a dark gray t-shirt and blue jeans. 

He was easily the most slippery of the crew, and Jeremy had found it child's play to leave the building early into the heist to complete the second part of his job. The shortest man of the six had sat at a cafe across the road, getting a hot chocolate to sip on while he kept a vague eye on the building that soon began to leak smoke before anyone had left.

It had Jeremy worried though he stayed put. That was the plan. He was the  _'regular guy enjoying an afternoon and trying to relax between university classes'_ it was an easy disguise to pull off. Casual dress not usually Rimmy Tim's thing, but Jeremy had no issues with it. 

***

Ryan took a moment to collect himself before he approached Jeremy, standing in front of the shorter man's chair with a sheepish grin. He was trying to apologize, he really was! He... didn't really know what he did, but they'd forgive him. Eventually. Usually Jeremy was the first to break, then followed by Jack, Gavin, Geoff, and Michael respectively.

  
"Uhh... Jeremy? Lil' J...? Can I join you?"

_"What is it, Rye?"_

  
Oh thank god. Or whatever was around as a deity figure for him to thank, he had one. He could start with that.

  
"I just wanted to apologize for... whatever happened. I didn't mean to, really. I know it happens, but-"

_"Wha- what are you doing?"_

"I'm trying to apologize to-"

_"Rye, please. No. You don't have to do this. It's okay."_

"I... I don't?"

  
Ryan paused, not having expected that much of a reaction, but if Jeremy was going to be this open to him... why argue?

  
"Oh, well... I uhh... Thank you, Lil' J. Battle Buddies, right?"

  
He smiled slightly, glad that one of his teammates had his back.

**_  
"Battle Buddies, Rye! Battle Buddies!"_ **

  
Ryan laughed at Jeremy's overly shouting tone. The youngest got so excitable about things. His energy was contagious, really.

  
"Yeah! Battle Buddies!" 

  
The mercenary laughed with Jeremy, glancing around for a moment to get himself a chair and sit next to Lil' J. He was comfortable for a minute, eyes fixed out of the window the member of his crew that would still tolerate him, both of them watching as the sun went down. The firey orb slipping out of sight behind the grassy mountains in the distance. 

  
"I've got to say, Lil' J, they don't get to be as Rimmy Tim as that all the time. There was a lot of purple in that one."

_"No, but just think about it."_

  
Ryan took the moment to consider Jeremy's suggestion. A Rimmy Tim sunset all the time would likely be the shorter man's dream. Getting to see that much orange, purple, and yellow at the end of every day? It would be like the sky itself was trying to do something for him as often as possible. Which he couldn't blame the sky, Lil' J was a good kid. How he got tangled up in their crew Ryan still hadn't gotten the story about, but it had to have been quite a deal.

  
"Well, I wouldn't be against it anyway."

  
Ryan continued the conversation though was met by silence from his company. The older man didn't expect much until contact was made with his arm. Blue eyes shot down to see Lil' J's hand softly cupped over his jacket covered forearm. It was a comforting gesture to say the least. Some human contact was all he needed at the moment. He needed the comfort that things were okay. That everything would turn out like it was. Like it always did.

When Ryan looked up in attempts to meet Jeremy's eyes he could see the younger man's head was facing down. Eyes to the floor in either embarrassment or shame, the mercenary wasn't entirely sure. Maybe even a third option he had yet to consider. Something that wasn't on his mind at all. 

  
"You know, I really appreciate what you do, Jeremy. This. Jack is usually the emotional connected one, but no one does comfort like you. Thank you."

_"Ryan, please. You know I'd do anything to stop this. You just have to tell me what you need."_

"I know. I know. I just don't know what that is yet. One day it'll stop. It's been happening less, so something's working, right?"

_"We can stop this together, pal. You, me. All of us. We can fight it."_

"One day, maybe. Not yet, though. It hurts. My head... I can't remember things so well when it happens, but... one day."

_"We're going to get over this. You just have to- Rye. Please, no..."_

  
Ryan's eyes squinted somewhat, unsure of why the conversation took that turn.

  
"Lil' J?"

_"Ryan! No! C'mon, Battle Buddies, right? **Right?!** " _

_  
_ Ryan didn't understand, his eyes leaving the now dimly lit hills in the distance, spotlights trained on the Vinewood letters, in favor for Jeremy's face. The younger crew member still stared at the floor, eyes never blinking, the usual lively brown eyes Jeremy had were milking over. They were now a sickly shade of an off-white gray, blue mixture. 

  
"Wait... What? Jeremy? What's wrong?"

  
Ryan reached down to touch the hand on his jacket, feeling how cold Jeremy's skin was. No... No...! 

  
"Lil' J! C'mon, speak to me! Battle Buddies, right? Just say it! Jack! Jack, something's wrong!" 

  
Ryan's panic reached deaf ears, Jack not moving a muscle to help as he continued to look through the cabinet. Ryan jumped from his chair, scooping up Jeremy to lay him on the floor, the younger man's body feeling so heavy and somewhat rigid. His limbs half posed as he took his position on the floor. The muscles taking time to sink to the flat positioning of the surface beneath him.

  
**"JEREMY!"**

  
The mercenary dropped an ear down to the younger man's chest, listening for any sound at all. There was no heartbeat in his ear, no breath moving his hair in the slightest. Why wasn't anyone doing anything?! Sure they hated him, but they had to save Jeremy! They loved him like a little brother! They were a family! They... Why was no one moving?!

Ryan jumped up to get Jack, grabbing the other larger man by the arms and shaking him to get his attention. The force of Ryan's shaking bent Jack's head back at an unnatural angle, something already caused a major damage but it was the shaking that completed the open wedge in Jack's cervical break. Ryan stumbled back as Jack's body hit the floor, face partially resting against the tile while his chest and belly faced the ceiling.

  
"No... No, it's... it's okay! We... We can fix this, right Jack? Tell me what to get! I can get it for you! We'll fix this! You and Jeremy!"

  
Jack's body remained without voicing help, unwilling to assist what couldn't be reversed.

  
**_"You see what you did?! Look at it, Ryan! Are you fucking happy now?!"_ **

  
Michael's voice was as strong as it ever was, as though the other was standing beside him. Ryan's head quickly shot up, only to see that he was alone, and the pair on the couch had not moved. The screen of the TV still as bright as ever with Michael's thumb holding the joystick to the side. The mercenary got up from Jack, running to the two he could always count on in emergencies. Sure, they got into trouble that he had to get them out of more times than he could count. They were always willing to try their best though! 

  
"Michael! What happened?! Jeremy, Jack, they-"

  
Michael wasn't about to help either. The large gash across the front of his neck would prevent that. Blood had once soaked his chest and stomach, covering a majority of the powder blue t-shirt he wore. Now the red mass had begun to dry, still staining the jeans the curly-haired explosives expert had.

  
_"BOI! Noooooo! Ryan! You... Y-You complete psycho, what have you done to him?!"_

  
Gavin's voice filled every clearing space of his head, voice shrill and full of panic. Tears. There were tears. Gavin was crying. Was. The once wet skin below the Brit's eyes were now long-since dried, leftover trails down his cheeks still noticeable on his face. Gavin was sobbing in his mind, it was too much sound. Too much at once. It was disorientating. He could feel hands on him, when he turned there was nothing. Only Jack's lifeless body on the floor behind him and Jeremy's feet sticking out from beyond the island. 

  
**_"RYAN! Don't do this!_ ** _We can get he-"_

  
Michael's once predominant voice in his mind faded to silence. Gavin's crying ceased. Jack's yelling had stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Jeremy's attempts at calming him became nothing more than a whisper. Geoff's voice was never in his mind.

Ryan reached with his hands to cover his face, remembering the paint he'd had on much too late. The man's hands dropped down, taking note of the flakes of red in his hands again. It... His paint never chipped like that. Not with how he... 

Oh.  
Oh no...

He couldn't take it. Ryan fell to the floor next to the couch, legs and knees as weak as the moment he was born. Unable to hold himself up or the weight of the guilt that now sat on his shoulders. He'd done this. This was his fault. Tears slipped from his eyes, mixing with the chipping, dried blood he had painted on his own face after the altercation. His classic paint smeared across his face in the blood of his once crew.

Ryan's hands trembled, eyes daring to glance again at the pair on the couch still before him. Michael sat forward, scowling, eyes as white as Jeremy's and jaw slightly slack. Gavin's body remained still, the bullet hole in his temple and the blood that trickled down the side of his face more clear than ever before. They sat together still. Like it was normal... He'd set this up. As though nothing had happened.

Tears hit the bottom of his jaw, clinging for dear life until the pressure was too much and another tear pushed it off the edge. Each salted droplet of his sadness hitting his jeans and the floor below him. They were gone. His supports. The pillars to what was left of his sanity. _  
_

They... They were talking to him though. They were talking! He heard it! 

_  
"You don't have to do this. You're okay, Buddy."_

_"Calm down, please, Ryan. It's alright. We're friends."_

_"No...! No, you can stop this! You can fight it! Ry-"  
_

_"Ryan, we love you, you mad man! We can help!"_

  
They...  
They were talking.  
He heard them.

  
_"Hey Ryan, feeling any better, man? You seemed out of it when we got back."_

_"Yeah, you wanna talk about it, or...?"_

  
They weren't gone.  
They couldn't be...

  
_"Why... Why do you have those knives, Ryan?"_

_"Ryan, please. Just... Just put the gun down."_

_"We're not going to put you down, Ryan! We can't! Snap out of it!"_

_"Rye, please... look what you've done... He's... He's gone..."_

  
They were still there.


End file.
